


He Who Courts The Dragon's (F)Ire Is Bound To Get Burnt!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-19 21:11:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: It had been something straight out of a story book, Kevin Richards thought afterwards.  It certainly had most if not all of the elements: battle-worn heroes overcoming overwhelming odds to return home victorious; a sly political courtier to the king trying to undermine the heroes - okay, so he was stretching things a bit there, - this was HQ, not the royal court -  but overall it fit; a even more sly and crafty Champion of the Right with a remarkably fitting notion of payback; and an innocent young page, deciding perhaps for the first time which side of the battle he should cast his lot toward. Hell, the whole thing even ended up with a celebratory dinner (well, okay, a celebratory drink or two maybe), and, the capper?  A rousing and extremely memorable recitation, outlining the moral to all they'd gone through.  What more could anyone ask?   Maybe a couple of aspirin and an ice pack?





	He Who Courts The Dragon's (F)Ire Is Bound To Get Burnt!

**Author's Note:**

> Actually, there were quite a few cultures who had legends similar to the one related by Private Ames. Ouch!

They were due back last night. Her contacts had let her know, Garrison had signaled the mission was a success before they started making their way along the exit route to where the sub would retrieve them. There was no call from London, no call from the Mansion.

She busied herself with work inside, neglecting the garden, waiting for the ring of the phone. She wasn't worried, per se; she'd worked enough missions herself to know the unavoidable delays, the things that cropped up out of nowhere. No, of course she wasn't worried! Damn it, alright, yes, she was worried!

She scolded herself, {"could be Craig caught sight of some target he just couldn't pass up. Chief told me about one mission, where they'd done just about everything imaginable against all odds, and were trudging their way back to the exit when my laddie taunted him, "oi, Warden, you sure you're 'appy now? Aint a bridge 'ereabouts you'd like to blow up, maybe some General we should maybe snatch on the way out? SOMETHING?? Aint like you, taking the easy way like this, now is it?"} to the appreciative laughter of the others. Well, she'd possess herself in patience and wait. Surely she'd be hearing something soon.

The phone rang, she rushed to pick it up. Julie Richards, urging her to some foolishness in London. Meghada found herself almost yelling at the woman, who wouldn't take No for an answer, wouldn't get off the bloody phone! "Julie, I'm expecting an urgent call! Please hang up and free the line! NO, I'm not coming to London to attend a tea party! Are you mad?? I have to wait here, I have to wait, if I don't, who knows what could happen?" She slammed the phone down, realizing that would make no sense to anyone else, but not caring. SHE knew it was true. She had to wait.

Two days she'd waited before the call came from Gil Rawlins at the Mansion, and she'd been in the car headed to London within the hour of their conversation. She was chanting mantras to herself; oh, not the Sanskrit versions of course, but the ancient words her people had always used for calming, for focus, for meditation.

Interwoven, the words from the wiry non-com kept playing in her mind. 'They're back, not too badly damaged, though quite enough from the sound of it. The sub wasn't there, didn't come for two days; somebody messed up the exit schedule. They 'ad to sit there, surrounded by Jerry, no supplies, not even knowing if anyone was coming. The Lieutenant said they almost missed it anyway, them 'aving to pull back into the 'ills after Jerry started moving in more troops; said 'e was about to try to find another way out for them when Casino came back to say 'e'd spotted that little boat. Actor took a bullet, Casino wrenched 'is shoulder, them getting back into position for the pullout. The Colonel overseeing it all, trying to tell the Lieutenant HE got it wrong, showed up two days early; trying to say the Lieutenant was careless, didn't pay attention at the briefing. Surprised the phone lines didn't melt, as fierce as 'e sounded. Now, 'e's trying to get proper medical care for them; seems HQ don't want to release them to the 'ospital, says the med unit there at HQ is fine, and won't even do that til they are debriefed, and no one even come in to start that yet. Goniff is still seasick, 'e says, but it don't usually last this long, so wouldn't be surprised if there's not something more going on there as well. Chief is hobbling; seems 'e got bunged up earlier. The Lieutenant, now, 'e says 'E'S fine, and you know what that means!"

Now she was chanting the words, finding herself rocking just a bit side to side as she guided the car along the city streets. Waiting til she got to her destination, waiting.

"Private Jeffrey Ames, m'am. And he should be back in just a few minutes, I'm sure."

She drew a deep breath and made herself greet the eager young man in front of her. "Thank you, Private, I'm . . ."

"Oh, I know who you are, m'am! Told the Major, I'd be really glad if I got the chance to meet you!" He blushed, rather charmingly. "I'm the one you spoke to when they wanted the team to go back out, when your Dr. Riley said they weren't able, after that bombing."

She didn't quite understand the look in the young man's eyes, almost one of adoration. As she remembered it, she'd rather blistered him on the phone.

"Told the Major then, you sounded just like my mother on a tear! Beautiful thing it is, when that happens! Smiled for hours after we talked, I did, just thinking on it!"

She couldn't help from grinning at the earnestly beaming Private Ames, a rather gawky young man of maybe twenty, with rusty hair and bright blue eyes, "well, I'm pleased you enjoyed it! Most are more likely to duck and take cover!"

"Oh, no, m'am. It was a true pleasure, it was! Just like a bit of home!" And they laughed together. 

Major Kevin Richards stepped into the hallway, pausing at that sound. Somehow, laughter wasn't what he'd been expecting to hear, knowing what he did of the situation and the young woman's temper.

He glanced down at the file in his hand, knowing it would only increase the heat of that temper, but, somehow, he just didn't care so much. He himself was livid, though there wasn't anything he could do about the situation. He hadn't been the one to send Garrison and his men on that mission, he hadn't been the one to set up the exit; that was all on Colonel Delacourt, for all he was disclaiming any part of the fiasco. Trying to lay it on Garrison for not getting the plans down right, not paying attention in the briefing.

Richards gave a disgusted hummmpph at that. {"Garrison's as nitpicking as they come when it's a matter of the mission, the plan, the safety of his team. He'd get the exit plan wrong only if he was in a coma or already six feet under!"}. Richards had nothing but contempt for an officer who'd make that kind of a mistake, putting a team at risk, then trying to shift the blame to one of the men he'd put in danger.

Still, something about Delacourt, something didn't ring quite true, something in his eyes perhaps, maybe his body language; there was more to the story, Richards had been sure of that. So he'd broken more than a few regulations, done some snooping, and found what he'd hoped NOT to find. Surely the teams were in enough danger from the enemy, from the jobs they were sent to do, without malice like this!

Still, despite the seriousness of this whole mess, the anger he was feeling, his apprehension about the next couple of hours, he had to smile at the picture of the two redheads made.

{"Obviously I was right about young Ames; if SHE approves of him, which it appears she does, and HE'S not wet himself in fright after meeting her, which seems to be the farthest thing from his mind, then he's a keeper!"}.

"I see you two have met, finally. Meghada, our Private Ames has been looking forward to this, though I'd prefer it to have been under other circumstances. Garrison and the team should be finished with their basic debriefing in about half an hour, Meghada; why don't we wait in my office. You can see them then, for just a bit, then Garrison has to meet with Colonel Delacourt, myself and a few others; you are welcome to join us, if you wish; my private invitation, you understand."

Kevin Richards had his bland, uncommunicative face on; that was enough to tell the woman something was up; well, she'd known that from the time she got that phone call, hadn't she?

"Would you like coffee, my dear? I can have Private Ames order some up," he offered. 

"No, but I wouldn't mind your opening that bottom drawer of yours," she told him, and he nodded.

"Yes, that might be best."

Private Ames gave a little grin as the two went into the office and the door shut tight behind them. {"Yes, just like my mother! Not adverse to a drop of the good stuff now and again!"}

He thought of that august personage once again when he heard the female voice inside, rising higher and higher. Some of those curses he was familiar with; some were new to him, though in English and others in Celtic, and he found those most impressive and quite inventive; there were some in a language, maybe more than one, that he couldn't understand, but had no doubt they were most fervently meant. He busied himself with pad and pencil, writing down as many as he could understand and remember; he intended to share these when he returned home on leave.

{"She'll really like that one about the camel, and the one about the frogs, and oh my goodness, that one involving . . ."}. He chuckled, picturing his mother introducing those into one of her tirades for the first time, picturing his father's face when she did so. {"And I hope I'm there when it happens!"}.

His father adored his mother, called her his 'fierce little love', and the displays of her temper, well, that just set off a whirlwind of embracing that used to embarrass all the children, but now, well, made them slightly envious, now that they were looking about, at least some of them, for partners of their own, and finding the crop amazingly dull, bland and uninteresting in comparison. Jeffrey, for his part, had just about despaired of finding anyone he could see spending his life with, as he refused to accept less than what his parents had shown him was possible. And while he knew his parents would accept whoever he brought to them in honesty, saying 'this is the one I love and want', not that he'd found anyone like that yet, still, he though wistfully, it would be nice if it were someone they would actually like, as well.

Inside the room, Richards was studiously tracing the counties and buroughs of Scotland on the big map on his wall, while the young woman sat at the desk behind him sipping on her drink. That desk where he'd placed that file he'd been so upset about. Of course, she wouldn't open it, read it. That wouldn't be proper, now would it?

He now moved to searching over the mountains and rivers in Wales, keeping his attention strictly on the map. You could never tell; Jerry might just decide to invade from that direction; the more information he had, the better off he'd be in that eventuality. And of course, with all the studying of the maps, well, that way he could honestly say he hadn't seen her reading it if the subject ever came up.

He imagined his statement now, "Yes, the file was on my desk, but I was in the room every minute. I never saw her touch it, even cast her eyes towards it. I beg your pardon! Are you questioning my ability to maintain proper security in my own office???!" Of course, that would mean he would have to admit he HAD the file, had even COMPILED that ever so incriminating file. 

He thought of the three files, only one of which he was supposed to have access to, where he'd found, well .. . He knew what she was cursing over, she'd found the same thing HE'D found, of course, the slip of paper he'd clipped to the spots made it easy to find; this wasn't a game, letting her waste her time searching for the clues. The transcript of the original briefing, it was slightly different than the carbon in Garrison's file, the one initialed by him indicating he'd read it, just one tiny character different, but that character changing the exit date, the pickup date from the 7th to the 9th, with Garrison's showing the earlier date. Someone had gone to some trouble over it as well; it wasn't an erasure, a smudge; someone had actually typed a new page to replace what had to be the original that created that carbon. He'd managed to get a copy of the carbon in the file of the sub leader's orders; it matched the new page, accounting for the two day delay in picking up the team. This wasn't an accident; this wasn't Garrison mishearing part of the briefing; this was a deliberate act, one that, while it didn't jeopardize the mission as such, DID put the team severely at risk once the mission was accomplished.

Funny, he himself usually considered getting the team back, alive and hopefully in one piece, to be PART of the mission, though it didn't always work that way. He winced, remembering one time in particular when he'd been part of a mission when that had NOT been in the plan. {"Well, thankfully it worked out without losing Garrison or his team, though I still regret those of my own men who died in that effort."}. He regretted each and every one of the men who died under his command; he made sure he did not take their deaths lightly, discount them, think them unimportant. He often wondered why he survived, when so many others hadn't.

Bringing his mind back to that file, he wondered what junior officer or clerk had been chivied into typing that page; somehow he couldn't image the Colonel hunched over a typewriter, though he could be mistaken. 

He heard the sigh from behind him; "do you think the guys will be through with their debriefing by now?" and he looked at his watch and nodded.

"Yes, there's just enough time for you to see them, have a few words before the meeting with Delacourt," and ushered her out.

She stopped and had a few words with Private Ames, him nodding rapidly, "yes, m'am, I'll see to it, of course," and he asked her, not knowing if he should or not, but thinking it might be better if he did, "just what is he seeing to?"

"Just some nourishment and coffee, Kevin, nothing to be alarmed about; and, of course, my car ready and waiting as soon as this meeting is over; my own doctors are standing by to tend to them; I don't want them straining the resources of your med unit or the military hospital, not when there are those much more in need and much more deserving waiting for treatment" she replied, but the slow, measured breathing, obviously highly controlled, mixed with the tight slant of her eyes made him doubt that whole statement. Maybe it was the ocean-deep level of sarcasm with which that whole last part was bitten off from between clenched teeth that did it.

She was now forceably remaining calm when she and Richards and Garrison left the room where the team were sprawled on chairs.

"Meghada? What do you think?" Garrison asked, getting a huge sigh in return.

"You already know the most of it, I'm sure. Chief has a partially dislocated knee, probably more painful than a full dislocation; that will hurt to fix, hurt like blazes! but a few days of rest, ice, something for the pain should put him on the right road, though he won't be easy with it for some time; no parachutes, unless you want him totally incapacitated. Casino, pretty much the same, but with the shoulder, and his IS a full dislocation; don't look for him to be doing anything too strenuous for awhile, certainly no jumping out of airplanes! Actor should have been seen to as soon as he came in; the bleeding may have slowed, but that is because of the swelling; that bullet is still in him; perhaps not dangerous, but extremely painful, and I'm surprised he's still upright; these people have no bloody sense, did you know that??!"

"Goniff? Craig, that's not seasickness. He's always pale, that's just him, you know that. And seasick or airsick, he's that pale but with the undertones of the faintest of greens, darker under the eyes. Look at him now, the undertones are much darker, and they're yellow, not green. He's jaundiced, and wildly tender at the low back, along with still being nauseous; I'd think an infection, kidneys, bladder, something of that sort; he says he got slammed hard there with a rifle butt by that guard you chewed out and had to get rid of about a week ago, remember, the day you left on that mission. The bruising is rather colorful to say the least, and I'm not too sure that last rib isn't cracked. Well, seemingly the guard tried to get a little of his own back and elected Goniff as the means. No, of course he didn't say anything! You know him; you were already loading up to head out and with all the nonsense you get about having to abort a mission because of anyone being 'incapable'? He needs treatment, and he'll get it, better sooner than later, but he's going to be pretty miserable for awhile. And you, Craig, don't think I haven't noticed how you're standing, moving. What, your back, your ribs? Well, you'll get a good going over too, so don't think to avoid it."

Richards and Garrison exchanged a rueful glance, {"The Dragon in full throttle! Who know a Dragon could be a Mother Hen too?!"}

"They need food, coffee . . ."

"And they'll get it, in fact, looks like it's coming now," as a wheeled cart came around the corner.

The private pushing the cart stopped and saluted Richards and Garrison, "I was told by Private Ames to bring this here?" and was motioned into the room.

"And whatever else they need, but no liquor," Meghada instructed. At the raised brows, knowing she wasn't one to deny the guys what they wanted, "not til they're checked out by the doctors, particularly Actor and Goniff, but the other two as well; it would interfere with the diagnosis, perhaps, and certainly with them being issued the necessary pain medications." They waited til the cart was in the room, then proceeded to the office where the meeting was scheduled to be held.

 

{"Bullshit, all of it bullshit!"}

She'd listened to the debriefing, the slightly amused and contemptuous overriding of Garrison's account of the exit delay, Delacourt giving his own explanation in flat, matter of fact tones, making sure to give the impression that Garrison had royally screwed up and was trying to shift the blame, especially since his team had taken some damage. She listened, listened and watched, and she saw the look in his eye, that Yank Colonel, that faint satisfied gloating just below the surface at the recounting of those injuries, at the noncommittal expressions on the other participants' faces. She could tell he wasn't going to press for any action against Garrison, being more than content with the damage he'd been able to cause; no, charges might bring things to light he'd prefer to keep unknown. She knew she couldn't bring up that file, the discrepancies; after all, how would SHE have even seen that file to know about that? No, if anyone brought action based on that, it would have to be Richards, and she wasn't sure he'd be able to do that, since he wasn't supposed to have access to two of those three files he'd riffled to pull it all together.

No, it was up to her, and if she was to do anything, it would have to be something quite different. Well, no matter, that could be, in fact, had already BEEN arranged, just in case. Of course, it wasn't so very civilized, but then, she'd never been accused of being civilized, not once that she could recall. And she hoped she never would be; she just wouldn't take kindly to such a vile insult!

Garrison was now red in the face with frustration and anger, Kevin at his most inscrutable, the onlookers worried, a bit puzzled, Delacourt silently smug. She waited. {"Sometimes you just have to wait, be patient, for the right moment."}

The door opened, and she tensed just slightly. Private Ames walked in, tray in his hands, pot of coffee, cups, smiling at them, caught her eye, when, somehow, he tripped. No one saw over what, but he undoubtedly tripped, and the tray, cups and pot of coffee went flying toward Delacourt and the others. The young woman was closest to him, and gave a little scream of dismay and grabbed for the pot, obviously not realizing it was steaming hot. Another scream, this time of pain, and she instinctively thrust the pot from her, losing the lid in the process, the scalding liquid dousing the unfortunate Colonel who was directly in its path. It missed his face and neck, but from the mid chest down, across his abdomen, his crotch (oh, it didn't miss his crotch, no it certainly didn't!), and upper legs, it drenched his uniform, sinking rapidly to his skin.

{"Unfortunate that I'd asked Private Ames to make sure it was extremely hot, since it might be awhile before they got around to pouring. Oh, how unfortunate."}

'Oh my goodness! Are you BADLY burned, Colonel?" eyes wide with shock and something else, something not so easily discernable to someone who didn't know her. The huge dark splotch, covering the Colonel's torso and upper legs, the faint steam arising, the noises he was making, well it seemed the answer to her question should be obvious. 

It was a pity, Richards thought with some detachment, looking at that coffee pot laying abandoned on the floor. He could have used a good cup of coffee right now. Actually, he could have used a good slug of whisky, but coffee would have been a reasonable substitute.

He made a note to himself, {"rethink how you talk about Garrison and his team to her; in fact, you might want to consider a phone call, not an in-person meeting, if you think it could be a particularly unpleasant conversation. Perhaps a telegram?"}. He remembered certain prior conversations now, and he shuddered at what the outcome might have been if she hadn't been fond of him.

He was rather surprised at how calm, how objective he was being, considering the American officer now moaning abjectly, interjecting those moans with tiny whimpers, hunched over, clasping himself tenderly. Perhaps it was his recollecting what the fate of those men could so easily have been during those two days of delay. Yes, that might have been part of it. As for the Dragon, though her face was distressed and extremely solicitious, ice would have been warmer than the gold-brown eyes, rather glittery now, looking down at Delacourt, now through lowered lashes, and Richards cautiously, surreptitiously moved that letter opener on the desk back out of her reach. {"No sense taking chances!"}. He did risk a glance over to Lieutenant Garrison; only concern showed in the young officer's face, in those green eyes. {"Man must run quite a con; not a hint of any satisfaction there,"} Richards thought with some amusement. 

One of the witnesses to this debacle hurriedly reached out to the young woman, turning her hands up to look at her palms, now showing scarlet, with blisters already forming.

"My dear! It was exceedingly brave of you to try and prevent that hot coffee from reaching the Colonel, but you simply MUST get those looked at right away! They must hurt dreadfully," and she gave him a slightly mournful nod, and just a trace of a sniff. Richards barely refrained from snorting at the sight of her face, though the frown on his face from the look of her hands, that was quite real. {"Those burns must be excrutiating! She probably thinks it was well worth it, though."}.

Private Ames was nowhere in sight, Richards having pulled him to his feet and hurriedly sent him from the room in the initial confusion, {"I'll have to ask him just how you GET coffee that hot!"}

Richards and Meghada left the room while the med team was coming down the hall at a trot. "See, Kevin, I was right to say the guys should see MY doctors; your medical staff have far too much to do as it is, and certainly Colonel Delacourt is much more in need of AND deserving of receiving their expert care." Richards didn't even glance down at her; he knew better, he was barely keeping himself in control as it was, though the impulse to spank her was equally as strong as his impulse to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She and her sisters frequently had that effect on him.

They gathered the men, now finished with their sandwiches and coffee, and headed down to the car, after eliciting a wheelchair for Actor and another for Chief, the more stable helping those less so. It was only once they were all in the car, Private Ames at the wheel since obviously Meghada would not be driving, that Richards leaned in and asked the men in the back seat, Goniff tucked onto the floorboards swallowing deeply, trying manfully not to be sick again, "were the refreshments satisfactory? The coffee not too hot?" but backed away and waved before anyone could answer the seemingly incongruous question.

It was the snort from Garrison that told them something was up, and then the small laugh, developing into one that caused him to bend over and grab those ribs that were 'just fine'. He wouldn't explain what he was laughing about, though, or why Private Ames was joining in, with Meghada trying to refrain from doing so. "Just wait til we get you all treated and settled. It can wait. Some things are worth waiting for."

And, later, when he related that rather amazing scene, they agreed. And as Goniff murmured later, after getting the medicines he needed and resting, rejoicing in the fact that he wasn't thinking about casting up his accounts yet again, "Luv, you really don't do subtle, do you?" chuckling, hugging her tightly but ever so carefully to him, more than content for it to be so. In fact, he was starting to think 'subtle' was, well, rather overrated.

***

Several weeks later, Lieutenant Garrison and his team, along with the Dragon, had gathered in Major Richards' office. It was a congenial gathering, a minor celebration of the team pulling off what even HQ had considered an impossible assignment, and glory be, for once, everyone coming home without the need for bandages. Somehow Private Ames had been gathered into the group as well, and everyone was lounging on hastily gathered chairs laughing and talking.

Private Ames had decided that he LIKED Miss Meghada O'Donnell well before he met her. I mean, that blistering she gave him to pass on to HQ in general, after that Allied aircraft had accidentally bombed the Mansion? Wow, that had been worthy of his own mother, who had the fiercest temper of anyone he knew. The liking only got stronger once he DID meet her, see what she had in mind for Colonel Delacourt; well, knowing his mother like he did, it wasn't all that hard to pick up on all the O'Donnell miss's signals, though he thought he was the only other one. He still remembered that look from his mother, when that interferring biddy and her husband ended up sharing that pot of steaming hot tea, though perhaps not in the way they'd hoped when they dropped in and started giving their unwanted opinions on how the Ames household was being run and the Ames children being raised! Well, of course, after the fact he knew Lieutenant Garrison and Major Richards HAD to know what had happened, but they hadn't said anything, not outright. 

Private Ames had listened to all the gossip, too, all that Major Danvers had been putting about before he got sent back to the States, and he discounted it, totally, seeing as how Major Richards was, well, rather straight-laced and hardly like to tolerate such. And, of course, seeing as how it hardly seemed likely Lieutenant Garrison and his men, and of course, Miss O'Donnell would get up to such things. He figured if anything HAD happened, it had been part of a huge trick on Danvers, and if anyone deserved that, Major Danvers certainly did! 

Not that Ames was naive, not nearly so much as he looked; he figured they had their private lives like anyone else, perhaps more adventuresome than many. Just he couldn't see them acting like those toffs up at the Evering's place, all together, any whichaway, with just anybody watching, with no caring between them; he'd heard the Major describing some of that, and he didn't approve one little bit. Heard they'd not only tried to rope the Major into their games, but the Lieutenant as well. 

He reflected on all that while he sat in one of the chairs in Major Richards' office, listening to the stories and laughing along with everyone else. He hadn't joined in, except to listen and laugh and wonder, but still, that one thing Danvers had ranted on about, what supposedly the Lieutenant had said, it put him in mind of a story his father had translated once, and in great glee, had related to his fierce little darling, Private Ames' mother, along with the children, one time.

His parents had been squabbling, his mother more than a little put-out, and his father had taken such pains to make amends before they retired for the evening. His father, a true scholar, had never thought about editing his stories, or censoring them either, much to their mother's amusement and everyone else's total horror. Perhaps young Jeffrey Ames had had just one glass more than he should have. Perhaps it was just that underlying strain of mischief that Meghada had noted with such amusement and approval in the young man previously. Still, during a pause, he held his glass to the light and spoke up, "all that talk, reminded me of the Legend of Adjar, you know," noting with interest the quick jerk of the young woman's head, looking at him with wide startled eyes.

"Private?" asked Major Richards, in a unusually benevolent mood, the result of the company and perhaps more liquor than he normally consumed. They were all off duty and in no particular hurry to be anywhere else, and the relaxed mood was evident. Everyone else had contributed to the widely-ranging conversation, and were sitting back now, more than willing to listen to the young man Meghada had evidently taken such a shine to. Goniff had even taken a closer look, wondering if he should be a little worried, but then settled back - he could tell this was much more like she acted with Patrick or Ian or one of her other brothers. 

"Well, as I've probably mentioned, my father is a research historian; he specialized in the old Celtic legends. That comment Lieutenant Garrison was supposed to have made, about not being afraid of the teeth and all," and the Private had the grace to blush, along with Major Richards, and Garrison and Goniff as well, though perhaps for very different reasons, "it reminded me of a story my father said he'd found in one of the old scrolls about a woman warrior, Adjar, one of a rather reclusive barbarian culture, Shantai he said they were called."

He had everyone's attention now, he could tell, and the quick glance between Goniff and the Lieutenant told him a lot about just what they knew, and perhaps why. He lowered his lashes, refraining from grinning, but knowing this was going to be a lot of fun. He had inherited his father's love of the old stories, and his mother's somewhat warped sense of humor, he knew, and thought both were well worth the having, and sometimes a hell of a lot of fun. 

"He and my mother had been having a bit of a tiff, you know, nothing serious, but it was approaching bedtime, and all of a sudden father was doing all he could to make amends, bringing her a glass of her favorite drop, bringing out all the charm he certainly had, but never bothered wasting on anyone else. When my sister teased him about trying to get on mother's good side, he told her, "well, if you are going to study history and legends, you are wise to pay attention to the moral given. And one of the things I learned was, 'never go to bed with disharmony between you and your bedpartner.' Said the story of Adjar taught him that quite well."

Meghada now had a gleam of unholy delight in her gold brown eyes.

Actor took note, "you are familiar with the story as well, Meghada?"

She grinned, "oh, yes. Though it might be interesting to see how Jeffrey's father's version differs from the one I grew up with." Somehow, that sparked more than a little interest; Major Richards was starting to feel that chill up his spine that indicated he was going to regret the next few minutes.

Everyone focused on the young man with the rusty hair and bright blue eyes who promptly lapsed into storytelling mode, as taught him by his father. "Well, once there was a great Warlord who thought to conquer all his neighbors, and made great incursions into the lands. He was greatly feared because he brought death to any man of those he sought to conquer, those he did not intend to sell into slavery, that is. And as for the women, the old ones were slaughtered as were the infants, the others sold to great profit. However, those women he found of particular interest, he took to his own tent and after he had despoiled them, gave them over to his warriers for their pleasure; few survived, and those who did, soon found opportunity to die by their own hands. Soon, he reached a land occupied by a barbarian tribe, and one of the men from the neighboring lands, thinking to curry favor and avoid death or slavery, took it upon himself to warn the great Warlord, 'the men are warriors, true, but it is the women you must fear most." And the Warlord scoffed, and told him in great contempt, "there's no woman I would need to fear, fool." But the man told him, most earnestly, "these women, they be different. It's the teeth you have to watch out for, you know. Oh, not the ones in their mouth, you see, but the others." And the great Warlord, asked in great puzzlement, "what do you mean, man? WHAT OTHERS??!" And the man told him, of the stories, of men trying to force their ways upon the women of the tribe, only to have their manhood torn from them, of being left in great misery and forever after most useless; for these women had teeth down below, inside where they could not be seen. The Warlord took out his sword and cut off the head of the man, furious at anyone thinking to fool him by such nonsense." 

By now, jaws were gaping, and Major Richards was wondering just how much his Aide had had to drink, thought he could have sworn he'd only poured him two rather small shots of whiskey. And he was a little uneasy at that tiny grin on Meghada O'Donnell's face; rather than be offended by this story, she seemed amused at the telling. 

"And when the Warlord came into battle against the barbarian tribe, he found they were indeed warriors, male and female alike, but he was lucky enough that in the first battle, his own warriors captured one of the leaders, a young woman with hair like the brightest copper from the mountains, dressed in battle leathers that showed much use, and a strange leather collar around her neck. Her name was Adjar. He had her brought to his tent, for it pleased him to think about taking such a warrior, teaching her a woman's true place. But the man's words returned to him, and he was just a little concerned, so he had a stonemason make him several copies of his own organ, all of the soft stone of the area. And instead of his own self, he did bury one of the stone copies within her, and heard with some alarm the gnashing and clashing that occurred."

No one had the wherewithal to stop the story; but they were all appalled, and Garrison thought, {"now there's one young man who's going to be mortified tomorrow when he sobers up and realizes what he's spouted off in the company of a woman and two officers!"}

Jeffrey Ames read that thought pretty well, and he kept his snicker on the inside, not wanting to spoil this. "Three times he did this, in order to wear down those hidden teeth; each time the damage to the stone organs was less and less, til with the fourth, not a scratch could he find. Then did he cast himself upon the warrior woman, burying himself deep within her. The screams that came from the tent were fierce, and signaled the beginning of the attack by the barbarians on the camp. When it was all over, and all of the invaders lay dead, the woman emerged from the tent, proud and stern of visage, though blood spattered and bruised. Another of the warriors, her Bondmate Vaden approached her, and drew her into his arms. Together they flung back the sides of the tent, and the body of the Warlord was pulled out to lay before the fighters, his own 'weapon' looking as if it had been feasted upon by wild animals, and his throat ripped open. And Vaden leaned his head close to hers, and glanced to the warriors gathered around them, and spoke just a few words, and their laughter rang through the valley. And the bodies of the dead were piled and burned, and the smoke, and for many a year the skulls that were posted on stakes along the border gave a warning to any who thought to invade that land. And the story of Adjar, and the words her lover Vaden declared to one and all, well they went down into the pages of legend, never to be forgotten by the wise."

And Jeffrey Ames smiled a slightly crooked smile and nodded and sat back as if the story was finished. There was silence as everyone sat, not knowing quite what to say, really rather wishing this whole episode hadn't happened.

Then a bright, spritely voice, "well, Jeffrey, that's pretty much the story as I learned it, with a few additions of course. There is rather a long verse about how the warriors, having heard all the stories about his lust, drew straws for the honor of taking down the Warlord, and how Adjar d'Shantai, Adjar of Clan O'Donnell won that round of wagering. And how Adjar was able to outfox the Warlord and his stone pieces. And of course, the moral DOES fit well with what passed between your father and mother, of course." 

Everyone except Jeffrey were really puzzled now, since they had heard NOTHING that brought the two subjects together. Jeffrey and Meghada looked at each other, co-conspirators now, displaying their evident puzzlement at their fellow's lack of comprehension.

"Well, of course, the moral is to never go to bed in disharmony with your bedmate - (long pause) - after all, just because the teeth CAN be retracted, doesn't mean they WILL be, you know!" And the two laughed, {"could almost hear that SNAP! as everyone did a little 'retracting' of their own!"}. 

Goniff looked at the two of them with his one brow arched and that half grin, then focused on the redhaired woman he shared a bed (and various other surfaces) with as often as possible, shook his head in admiring amusement as he looked around at his team mates, Craig Garrison and Kevin Richards, "always did say, don't do to get 'er pissed off, didn' I now, mates!"

Private Ames, his eyes wide with pretended astonishment now, "but, that's pretty much what the story says VADEN had said, outside that tent! Probably not quite the same accent, but still . . . ! Wow! Isn't that something! Go figure!"

And anyone passing through the hall would have been shocked to hear the roars of laughter coming from the austere Major Kevin Richards' office.


End file.
